(upbeat music) - This podcast is brought to you by Free Buddhist Audio, the Dharma for real life. Our work is funded entirely by donations from our generous listeners. If you would like to help us keep this free, come and join us at freebuddhistaudio.com/community. Thank you and happy listening. - First conceiving of an eye, we cling to an ego. Then conceiving of a mind, we cling to the material world. Like water in a water wheel, helplessly we circle. I bow down to the compassion that arises for all beings. So here we have a description of the human condition in all its glory. Here we have laid bare the conceit of self and world, the bringing into being of ourselves and the whole wondrous complex world that that creates. And we have the entrapment of that creativity, the endless circle. But just as all of this seemingly arises, out of a seeming nowhere, so does the compassionate urge, the sensitive resonance. It is also part of our humanity and the very essence of reality. So we have two wondrous, amazing, deeply mysterious phenomena. Firstly, there's the constant creativity, constant appearance of phenomena coming into being, constant, interpenetrative flow. Then secondly, there's the sensitivity, the feeling response. And these are both present in every moment of existence. They characterize the whole of humanity, Sanghara and Nirvana. You can't really separate them. But just as we don't normally recognize our everyday lives, the environment and interactions that we are engaged in as conceit and dependently arisen mere appearance, we don't also normally recognize our feeling responses as compassion. In fact, our world view, even our normal so-called Buddhist world view, is that many of our feelings and desires are almost the complete opposite of compassion. But this is not the only way to look at it. Recently, I've been exposed to quite a different approach that of the Mahamudra. This approach asserts that compassion is inherent in the nature of mind, that all our feelings and desires are expressions of that. Now I've found trying to put this approach into practice, encouraging and exciting, but also quite a challenge. So I have to say that when Diane Andy asked me to talk about my responses to the second two lines, my heart sank a bit with the impossibility of doing justice to the task. All I don't begin to understand the profound mystery of our conceits and fabrications as described in the first two lines of the verse, I'm at least used to the idea that there's a mystery there to be penetrated. But the mystery of compassion, its power, its omnipresence, how it can be present in every moment, even those of boredom, fear or blankness, completely flaws me. And yet we are told that this is the nature of reality. And somehow that resonates too. So I feel like I'm standing on the threshold of something of deep significance. But it's so profound and revolutionary that I just want to get right out of here. So that's why I'd call this compassionate co-ends. I suppose it's my way of reverenting or even bowing down to the mystery of it all. And the second part of the title, the heart of the matter. Well, quite simply it's just because on some level I know that's what it is, the heart of the matter. So thank you very much. Where are you, Dinandi, in advance for giving me a reason to stay with this, to stay in here, through all the discomfort and struggle. And we'll just see what happens. So now I'm going to look at the second two lines of the verse. Firstly, like water in a water wheel, helplessly we circle. I've been very struck over the years by images of circling. I remember going on one of the reflection retreats at Tara Loker on Hackwin's Song of Meditation. And out of all the beautiful and profound lines that I could have been grabbed by, the line dark path upon dark path treading was just kept going round in my head for two weeks. Dark path upon dark path treading. Yeah, I can also feel particularly trapped when I'm driving around the M25. (audience laughing) For those of you not based in the UK, the M25 is a circular motorway all the way around London. It's completely irrational, but I just get the sense that there's no beginning and there's no end. And if I didn't take the decision to get off, I'd just be going round and round and round in an interminable flow of traffic noise and fumes. So also, I don't know, probably in the dim, distant paths, remember the film Groundhog Day. I think it's something very much that this plugged into there. It really played on the inherent meaningless of endless circling. The main character gets stuck in the same day. It's just endlessly repeated. He's driven up the wall with frustration and boredom and he can't even commit suicide to get out. Yeah? So for me, there's that sensation of being trapped, feeling trapped. It's actually something I have all the time. But these images of circling, I think, really bring it to the fore. So I have this feeling of helplessness, of entrapment, and like water in a water wheel, there's nothing I can really pin it on, but that doesn't lessen the frustration. There's this internal commentary that goes on to some degree all the time, I suppose, and I don't want this. I hate this. It shouldn't be like this. I want this to stop. So this can feel a bit silly, even a bit childish. After all, this is the way things are and it's not going to help to rail against it. Or is it? What is actually going on here? The trouble is, well, that when I feel like this, my energy and attention go into getting away from the discomfort of the feelings, rather than being curious about what it is that feels trapped in the first place. So when I look at this, I can see that I have a strong desire for things not to be the way they are. I don't want these limitations. I have a force in me that rebels against these restrictions. And this force is a force that wants to be free. It opposes suffering. So isn't that essentially what compassion is? A force that opposes suffering. According to the Mahamud review, this heart wish to oppose suffering doesn't stop at our own suffering. But given free reign, it will naturally oppose any suffering it encounters. Wherever and for whoever it arises. So I think for me, this is where I need to start, paying attention to this sense of restriction and limitation, honoring the strength and all pervasiveness of that force, however it manifests. That helps me to take on board the weight behind the desire not to suffer, which in itself is the force of compassion, the force that opposes suffering. The very feeling of restriction has within it all the power, all the desire, the longing to be free. In the words of Edna, Sir Vincent Malay, in a dirge without music. I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts and the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been time out of mind. Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely, crowned with lilies and with laurel they go, but I am not resigned. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave. Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind, quietly they go. The intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know, but I do not approve, and I am not resigned. So along first hearing, it may seem childish to rail against the way things are. This voice that is not resigned is the voice of Bodhi Chitta speaking through us. Now the Kohan here is at the force of the desire to oppose suffering can be so strong that it can turn into suffering itself, whether that anger or indignation or dullness, rejection or blankness. So reclaiming, reaffirming or even celebrating that heartfelt desire to oppose suffering is the start of letting go of the sense of struggle, the start of opening things up. But I have to know that genuine sense of constrained first, to find it wherever it is in my current experience, to feel it as a longing, however subtle. If I feel my way into the fabric of the longing and recognize that as a longing to be free, then I can really start to connect with the force that opposes suffering. In the words of One Bodhi Chitta practice, beings who have been my mothers and fathers wander endlessly in Sanghsara. And so with unbearable longing, we all produce the unbearable longing to become a Buddha. For me longing can be a bit of a tricky issue. When Chandra Kirti's verse talks about producing this feeling, it can lead me down the path of bringing up an image of suffering and then trying to sort of whip up discomfort around that. If I try to drum up attitude of longing when I focus on someone's suffering, I can feel as if I'm just contriving or forcing something. So as a result of that, I can easily end up in a sort of horrified anxiety or just blank out. And this is because my starting point is something that isn't there. I haven't got it. I haven't got compassion and I have to somehow produce it. So I can get the uncomfortable feeling of wanting to make it all all right and it all becomes rather problematic. A more effective alternative for me in meditation is to drop in an image of someone suffering and wait for a response. Now I need to be honest about what that response is. It could be pain or anger or irritation or blankness or feelings of constraint around the whole process of the meditation itself. I need to honor the sensitivity involved in whatever that response is and remain likely interested, engaged and curious about what that feeling is expressing. I need to trust in the integrity of the heart and in the primacy of compassion. The fact that compassion is an inseparable part of the way things are. When I remember to trust in this and be patient with the process, I'm able to let go to some extent of this tension and struggle. Then compassion can just be present naturally unforced, uncontrived. Working in this way brings me up against another Cohen. On the one hand, we long for things to change in order to get rid of the suffering. And on the other, we need to be prepared to let go of the struggle and tension that is the essence of that suffering. So how do you long without grasping or fixing? How do you let go without becoming passive or disengaged without losing spirit, momentum, chanda, if you like? So I got a glimpse of how this might work recently when I had my first real experience of lucid dreaming. Now, I'd been experimenting a bit, checking out during the day to see whether I could really tell if I was asleep or awake. Important. Doing things like jumping in the air to see if I could fly. Checking my watch to see that the time was behaving consistently. Apparently, if you're dreaming, time doesn't behave consistently and you can look at a watch and it does really weird things. You know, it doesn't just sort of carry on as normal. So it's quite a good way to tell if you're dreaming. You may laugh. You may laugh. You get... So first of all, you get into the habit of asking the question, "Am I dreaming?" And then you do these checks. You do some checks, okay. But you have to really want to know. It's no good saying, "Oh, well, you know, I really, I know I'm not dreaming." You have to really want to know not just be going along with it. So anyway, in the dream, okay. This was beginner's luck. They say this happens. But anyway, in the dream, I was at home and I took a young girl to the toilet. So then I noticed that the toilet seat was behaving like a television screen. And I realized, I realized that this wasn't usual. So I asked myself, "Aha, am I dreaming?" And I checked my watch, which I couldn't read at all. Now at this point, there was an incredible emotional shift. I remember thinking, "Oh, I'm dreaming." I'm being utterly amazed. Because it all felt so real, so real, just like standing here talking to you. Well, that doesn't feel very well. Anyway. Oh my God! Yes. So I was filled with a sense of wonder and possibilities. I felt as though I could do anything. There were no limitations anywhere. I began to sort of test it out. I was a bit of a learner. It took me a few goes to walk through the wall. I did it. I walked into the street. And then it took me even longer to change my dress from red to green. I did that too. But throughout this process, there was this really heightened sense of sensory aliveness. I felt the road, the texture of the road under my feet and the air against my face. The colors of the sky were really vivid. And the trees were so clear and alive as I took flight. I was still very, very present in the dream. In fact, more so than usual, I'd say. But I had this amazing sense of possibilities and mystery from just knowing that it was a dream. In fact, when I've finished flying, I decided this is interesting. I decided, "Oh, right. What you're supposed to do? I'll sit down and meditate." But in doing so, I actually withdrew from my senses. And I wasn't able to maintain the connection with the dream. Interesting. So I woke up. Now, I found this loose dream experience very helpful. It sort of given me a glimpse of what it could be like to realize the limitations of any particular state of consciousness. You know, maybe it could help. That's what it would be like a bit in waking consciousness. Oh, this isn't real in the way that I think it is. So, I mean, after all, in Tibetan tradition, dreams are sometimes called example dreams. And waking reality are called actual dreams. So in some ways, everything in my lucid dream is still the same as in an ordinary dream. It's still going round. Everything is still going round. I'm still involved in the context of the dream, even though I can change my dress from red to green with a bit of practice. But in fact, I have to stay engaged with the dream. I have to stay there, engage, or I wake up. But at the same time, it's also a completely different experience. To be dreaming and know that you're dreaming. There's not the same struggle. It's alive with freedom and mystery and possibilities. In a sense, I wasn't really suffering in the dream, you could say. It was just a perfectly normal, trundling, a long dream. I wasn't suffering before I realised I was dreaming. But in comparison to those vast possibilities that opened up after that, not knowing felt so much of a constricted way of being. I'll never forget that moment of realise. Oh, I'm dreaming. Okay, so now let's look at the last line of the verse. I bow down to the compassion that arouses for all beings. So compassion arises for all beings. The force that opposes suffering is attended to and valued. A felt sense of that force can build into recognition of the beauty and integrity of our desire. We are free to open into the mystery of compassion. Chandracharya doesn't create compassion. His activity in this is to bow down to it. There's a sense of inevitability. We're dealing here with the nature of reality. Compassion is an intrinsic part of that nature. It's unavoidable and nothing I do will ever change it. Once I see this, all I can do is bow. The verse as a whole could be read as a progression. Like the Buddha, we have seen Mara. We have seen ourselves create our stories and our worlds. We've come up in a direct and painful way against the constrictions and the limitations of our interpretations. The more we see this, the more we see it's a fundamental part of humanity. We see all beings stuck on this water wheel, caught in the indefinable power of their sense of self, and carried along by their powerful ability to build worlds up around it. In the past, I've tended to assume that compassion might arise a bit like this. Having woken to some extent from the dream, you as it were turn back and see beings all around you still trapped, still lost in their dreams. And this gives rise to compassion. But this approach has led me into difficulties. I think the truth about compassion and indeed about interconnectedness is far more radical than this. One indication I've had of this radical nature of compassion was when I was a good way into a three month retreat at Sudarshan Loka. I read in the Life and Liberation of Padma Samvava, a passage where Mandarava asks Padma Samvava about the future lives of her father. Now, her father Padma Samvava has revealed him as an aspiring Bodhisattva already, so Padma Samvava describes these countless lives of endless circling in different forms. And at the end of this, Mandar Vrix claims, "Is there no escape from such bonds even for a Bodhisattva?" Now, my memory at the time was that Padma Samvava basically says, "No, there is no escape." Looking back, I see actually he does qualify that a bit, but at the time, and I read it, I think that's what I needed to read, yeah? The nature of reality is to manifest. In a sense, there's nothing else but this, yeah? So, of course we go round, dependently arising appearances are not just some problematic fault of Sanzara. They are the nature of reality, yeah? It's as if Padma Samvava is asking, "Well, what else do you expect to happen when you're enlightened?" Now, perhaps this isn't a question we normally ask ourselves, but actually I realize that I can be quite vague about my impression of what does happen. It's as if there's almost a place somewhere, maybe even over the rainbow, where it will all stop. And even if the answer that resonates for you is that, well, everything will just be endless creativity, then isn't there endless creativity going on right now? The profound mystery of life and manifestation that we're in every moment. So, what this does for me is it exposes a tendency of mine to want it all to stop, to go away, to be different. But if I do manage to get rid of it, what will be there instead, yeah? Catching this glimpse of the radical nature of compassion gives me another poem. I need to want passionately for suffering to end, and at the same time, I need to stop wanting to get rid of it all. And if this isn't radical enough, not enough of a challenge, then the Bodhi Chitta practice presents me with further problems. On the one hand, I can't possibly conceive of actually taking on another's suffering. It's all very well in theory, but this is for real. Now, I might be able to overcome my natural self-preservation instincts enough to genuinely want to take on a bit of a headache from a very close friend or relative. And even then, I'm sure I'd be rather self-congratulatory about it. But what we're being asked to do in the Bodhi Chitta practice is not only take on the suffering of all living beings, but to do that in a very real and tangible way. So when someone asked what would happen if we're wanting to take on another's illness, they actually did start to feel a bit unwell. A Tibetan master replied that that would indicate that the practice was working, yeah? This is for real. On the other hand, I am genuinely moved by the stories of extreme acts of generosity. I have a strong response to such things. People who reverse deep feelings of grief and hatred to adopt their son's killers. People who engage in a life of service, acting for the sake of others with humility, are moved by selfless tears. Unsung heroes in the local neighbourhood. There's a woman who lives near me who has single-handedly decided to end isolation and loneliness. So she invites people into her home and has a constant coffee morning, even though she's got no money at all. And they're countless tales of these very ordinary folk who very actively try and alleviate the suffering for people they don't even know. So this strikes a chord with me. It suits my temperament, you might say. My natural instinct is to feel that action is noble and that it's what makes a real difference. And that inaction is bumbling and ultimately ineffective like hamlet. Our actions have the strongest effects on the world. I like to be engaged, to see the results of what I do, and to get on with it. I respond to the noble, the unresigned rising up of the heart's desire to end suffering, to make suffering history. But of course, like many of us, I find there's always more to respond to than I can actually do. Rather than devoting myself to a noble cause, I can feel like I'm fighting a losing battle. The gap between my limited capacity and my desire to do something for the benefit of others widens. I'm never going to be good enough. So this gives rise to mixed responses. When I was asked to give this talk, I felt the response of, oh no, to talk about compassion. I have to be in that space of conflict between loving the noble and never being able to do enough. How can I possibly do justice to such a sublime subject? So what I feel isn't compassion, but the weight of failure. And that's what I feel. I feel there's all the suffering in the world, and somehow I have to find the key to it. I have to do something because otherwise I'll never feel like I've done enough. And I can't just forget all about the Bodhisattva ideal, just drop it and relax and release the tension. Because I'm not just doing this to be a good Buddhist. It's not just a question of losing the label. However, out of touch with them, I may become. It's my own deep-seater's responses that's telling me that caring involvement with others is what's meaningful, noble, good and true. So I can't just lose the label. But however genuine the aspiration, approaching it like this, I feel I've failed before I've even started. I come up against futility. I cannot engage my heart. Whichever way I turn, I'm just not going to be up to the mark. So this for me is the fundamental difficulty that this approach to compassion has left me with. I'm undermined by a continuous sense of lack, just not being good enough. So at this point Padma Sammava comes to my rescue. I imagine him gently pointing out that compassion and interconnectedness are not things to be taken on or to do. They are first and foremost the way things are. Interconnectedness is the nature of reality. Compassion is its perfume. This is the case whether I understand it or not. It will be the case whether or not I come up to the mark or not or just ignore it completely. So back to the verse and to my original assumption about how compassion might arise. I don't bring compassion into being through responding to our shared limitations. It's more a case of recognising that compassion is there all the time. It's the natural expression of reality. The more deeply in tune with this I am, the more I act from this perspective. The more I see that we are fundamentally interconnected in ways I can't even imagine. All manifestation is an expression of the nature of reality and it all has the perfume of compassion. My very sense of entrapment and limitation, the sense of loss or lack is actually an expression of that. Without that sensitivity and feeling of wrongness there would be no possibility of freedom. Without that feeling of wrongness in that sense of lack. That's an indication that there could be something different. So this is very important if a little challenging. With compassion as all pervasive there's no possibility of being inherently lacking or not good enough. It's just not possible. Any tendency to see it like this is just a distortion of reality. At this point you may well be thinking that that's all very well but what differences it make in everyday life. And of course I'm not in touch with such an in light of perspective as I go about my business. But holding myself open to it somehow does make all the difference. It's this that makes it possible to turn to face my experience more deeply. With a sense of curiosity, openness, optimism, relaxation and trust. And that in turn allows the force of compassion to emerge. I spent some weeks over the winter doing an intensive bout of Mahamudra pure awareness practice. Fairly early on I felt painfully up against my restrictions. The boundedness of the where experience things through my interpretations and stories all the time. One day I was meditating and it was as if I could feel all of these interpretations and stories as the very structure of my being. I had the image of a climbing frame or scaffold towering over me. In a moment of longing I cried out internally what would it be like to be free of such a limiting framework. The next moment I turned to my heart and felt as if it had turned into an immense radiating vibrant, multifaceted blazing gem. Made of and pouring out unceasing and irrepressible light. There was no sense of separation at all. The whole thing was very definitely both my heart and filling the entire universe. And it was also a wishful filling gem. There for everyone, beautiful Bodhicitta. The moment passed but it left an incredible sense of relief. This was my nature. This was our nature. Our birthright. Completely inescapable. There's nothing I could do to bring it into being or destroy it. This was the nature of reality. It was beyond any sense of me doing anything to hold the world together. All I could do was bow to it. And followed weeks of tender heartedness and acute sense of oppressions caused by suffering as well as large amounts of joy. Seeing the beauty and the pain together. Not being afraid to relate to the beauty and dreams of those who were suffering. In this state it seemed absurd that happiness could come from anywhere else than this vast opening to others. The struggle had gone. Why would I want to be anywhere else? All joy, all pleasure, comes from engaging in the experience right here and now. From the life and vitality and open mystery that is here in every moment. From the deep mystery that is another person and the meaning it gives me to be in connection with them. At that time the task became just to let go in every possible way and I did let go very deeply indeed. For now I seem to be left with a fluid but vast tenacious heart of optimism. It doesn't solve any co-ends or answer any questions. It just asks more. Opens up more mystery. It's the opposite of a sense of lack. A happiness that is sometimes sad and tender. Sometimes full of wonderment and amazement. Sometimes frustrated or bored. I can and will be actively engaged with things. That's my temperament. It still makes me feel good. It keeps alive the flame of care. The desire to oppose suffering. And the doing might even be exactly the same doing. Exactly the same difficult decisions about what to respond to. But the activity is about bringing myself into alignment with an incontrovertible truth. Which holds true and strong whatever I think about it. So I might as well bring myself into alignment with it. And I can do that by honouring it, celebrating it. And like Chandra Kirti bowing to it. And this turning towards the sunshine of reality is radical. In some ways as challenging as staring open to suffering. This is faith. The activity of aligning ourselves with the nature of reality. All other activity can flow from this point. Bodhisattva activity becomes an attempt to live in accord with the way things are. But the starting point is faith. Although the heart of compassion is all pervasive and indestructible. Only faith. Only alignment. Only honouring. Only bowing can sustain our connection with its radiance. We hope you enjoyed the talk. Please come and help us keep this free at freebuddhistaudio.com/community. And thank you. [MUSIC] [BLANK_AUDIO]
